


in the showers

by mitzvahmelting



Series: in the batcave [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Dominant Tim Drake, Dubious Consent, M/M, Submissive Bruce Wayne, sexually aggressive minor, uhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 17:51:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15515274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitzvahmelting/pseuds/mitzvahmelting
Summary: Bruce can't say no to Tim. Really, hecan't.





	in the showers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cadkitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/gifts), [Smutbunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smutbunny/gifts).



> look, i don't know, it's been languishing in my hard drive and i need to publish it, i love it so much i just need to put it out there.

In the showers in the Batcave there is a bench, an accessibility tool for nights like these. When Batman has been working for three nights nonstop with no sleep, and his body has taken too many blows, and he can’t keep his eyes open… there’s a bench, in the shower, so he doesn’t pass out. So he doesn’t fall. There’s a metal bar installed in the wall to help him steady himself.  It’s all very practical.

And it tells Tim something, that Bruce is using the bench tonight.  It’s the first time Tim has seen him use it – granted, Tim doesn’t often watch Bruce in the shower, either.  Tonight, Bruce forgot to close the shower curtain.

Still wearing most of his Robin garb, Tim leans a shoulder against the entrance of the bathroom, trying to telegraph his presence so as not to startle his exhausted companion.  “Are you alright?” he asks, trying to feign nonchalance.

Barring emergency situations, Tim always feels more relaxed when Bruce’s faculties are running somewhere below 50%.  He knows that, times like these, Bruce isn’t watching Tim with Batman-precision, and if Tim puts his foot in his mouth somehow, Bruce won’t remember or care. 

Hot water streaming down his face and body, Bruce looks up at Tim belatedly, seemingly surprised somewhere beneath all the dark hair plastered to his forehead. “I’m fine,” he responds, a rasp in his low voice. “Did you…” Bruce glances at the shower curtain hanging folded to one side of the metal rod, and asks mildly, “did you invite yourself in here?”

“You left it open.” Tim informs him.

“Ah.” Bruce’s gaze lingers on the curtain, but his eyes are unfocused.

It’s not like Tim can properly appreciate his mentor’s physical form from this angle. Bruce is hunched over, not out of modesty but out of exhaustion, casting shadow onto his thick, muscled thighs. Dark bruises in red, purple, blue, and yellow mark his shoulders and sides.  He isn’t washing himself yet; he seems to be working up to it, letting the water comfort him and steam the shower first.

“I finished documenting the report for tonight,” Tim tells him. “I uploaded Croc’s file with the new arrest. Should I log out for the night?”

No response. The water straightens and smooths down the masculine body hair that runs all down Bruce’s legs, punctuated only by bare patches of scar tissue. A wave of steam reaches Tim at the bathroom’s entrance.

“Bruce,” Tim prompts.

“What?”

“Should I log out for the night?”

Bruce nods, shutting his eyes. “You can head home, Robin.”

Tim smiles without meaning to.  Bruce hasn’t slept in over seventy hours. Tim is supposed to think that he and Bruce are both on the same sleep schedule, like partners. In reality, Bruce is taking on extra hours behind Tim’s back. It bothered Tim when he first figured that out, when he noticed the logs in the Batcomputer that show timestamps during the hours when Bruce was meant to be sleeping.  Bruce had crossed his arms, put on a stern face, and commanded Robin to go rest, knowing full well that he himself would do no such thing.

It doesn’t bother Tim as much now, seeing the results.

It’s kind of a rush, to be the most perceptive person in the room.  To stand near Batman and know that, if it came to blows, Batman would handily lose, out of sheer exhaustion.

Tim finds it endearing, in a sore way that makes Tim’s chest twist with affection.

Tim doesn’t go to the computer.  He doesn’t go home.

He steps forward.  He removes his tunic, and tights, and boots, deliberately, piece by piece, leaving them piled bright against the tile floor. He slides out of his tank top, so he is only wearing his navy-blue briefs.  He steps under the water.

The heat is intense; Bruce always runs it hot. But it feels good in Tim’s hair, and streaming rivers down his dry skin, until he’s soaked, and pleasantly warm.

Bruce finally looks up at him, dark hair parting slick against his forehead. His gaze is hazy, but cognizant enough that he warns, “Tim…”

Without hesitation, Tim reaches for the bottle of body wash, squirting some of the cool liquid into his hand, and rubbing it into a lather.  He then steps around Bruce and behind the bench.

“Tim,” Bruce warns again, but there’s no real force behind it. Not after all his yelling and grunting during the row with Croc. He’s so hoarse, and tired. “What are you—”

Tim sets to work on Bruce’s shoulders, and the man lets out a tremulous sigh.

It’s not the first time Tim has massaged Bruce; they do this sometimes as part of training, after a particularly straining workout. Under those circumstances it is with professional distance (at least, on Bruce’s part.)  Tim enjoys pressing into the muscle tissue of Bruce’s shoulders and neck, slick with soap. Bruce’s head drops, chin to chest, his breathing unsteady as Tim works out the knots.

And Tim’s fingers stray to his underarms, and his pectorals, and the tips of his firm nipples, yielding soft under the slightest pressure. It earns a grunt of quiet pleasure from Bruce, followed with “You don’t need to—”

“Let me take care of you,” Tim entreats him, smiling though Bruce can’t see him.  He is abruptly reminded how naked Bruce is, how defenseless.  And the smooth soap makes it so easy to slide down Bruce’s sides, lower and lower, until ribs turns to hip, and hip turns to thigh, so Bruce’s knees flinch.

Tim returns to Bruce’s front, and kneels in front of him, upright between Bruce’s knees.  He slides a lathered palm up to cup Bruce’s neck, inviting eye contact, face to face.

Bruce’s expression is… dismay. His cheeks and shoulders are flushed and he tries to say something, anything, to stop Tim.

Tim shushes him, caressing his throat. It’s so easy to control Bruce’s emotions, to keep him from pulling away. Gentle touch, quiet voice, and the beat of the water against his face. Coaxing him to accept what Tim wants to give him.

After retrieving soap from the lather on Bruce’s back, Tim touches Bruce’s cock. Carefully, seductively, enticing him to hardness. Bruce’s hand latches onto Tim’s wrist, as if to push him away, but he hesitates. Tim is already hard, under the wet, heavy fabric of his briefs, but he ignores it in favor of leaning up, and pressing his lips against Bruce’s left temple.

Another kiss, and Bruce makes a choking noise. His grip loosens, and his knees flinch apart to give Tim more access.  With just his one hand, Tim continues stroking him, rubbing a thumb across the head, squishy and slick.  Bruce’s face presses against Tim’s shoulder, and he is moaning against Tim’s collarbone.

Tim smirks, shutting his eyes and just enjoying the sensations of the moment, feeling Bruce’s body against his. “Feels good?” he asks Bruce, just loud enough to hear over the shower water.

Bruce makes an ambiguous, low sound, and he doesn’t say anything.

Tim pulls away, trails kisses down Bruce’s cheek, and strokes his cock harder, forcing him to gasp. Reaching down with his other hand, Tim cups his balls, firm weight in his hand.  Tim feels like the spirit of sexuality has settled into his bones, channeled in every movement of his fingers, spurred on by Bruce’s hot breath.

“You close?”

Bruce’s bottom lip is caught in his teeth.

Tim lets go of Bruce’s sack, reaching around behind him instead. “I’ve got you,” Tim whispers, “I’ve got you,” as he presses a finger against Bruce’s entrance—the pressure earns a sob, and a full body shiver.

Not long after that, Tim brings him to climax with a whimper, his body seized up with pleasure. Bruce’s breath catches, a broken noise, as his cock twitches against Tim’s palm.

And then he breathes again. The shower is still on. Tim has water in his mouth, and Bruce’s cock softening in his fingers. Tim’s wearing a smile he can’t smother down.  He’s done it; it’s done.

Bruce isn’t moving. “Shut off the shower, please,” he says.

There’s no more risk, anymore, no more uncertainty. Tim has nothing more to worry about, now that he’s brought Bruce to shivering, gentle climax in his arms. It’s relief like the cool, fresh water of a stream.

Just… to know that Bruce can’t send him away, not anymore. That card is off of the table; Tim has taken Bruce’s pleasure in his hands, and Bruce can’t erase that.

Tim turns the shower knob off, and then returns to Bruce’s orbit in the dripping aftermath, touching him still, to keep the spell from wearing off.

Finally, Bruce covers his face with his hands. “Why did you do this?” he asks, without inflection.

Tim chooses his words carefully, while he encircles Bruce’s wrists and pulls his hands away from his face. Then Tim stands, still close to the bench, and he guides Bruce to rest his face against Tim’s stomach. Bruce doesn’t resist.  His eyes shut when he feels the warmth of Tim’s body, and he succumbs to Tim’s caresses, petting Bruce’s wet hair. “I wanted to see your pleasure,” Tim explains softly, eventually. “I wanted to give you pleasure. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that.”

Bruce sighs. His stubble brushes against Tim’s hip, and Tim gasps when he feels Bruce’s lips press a kiss just to the left of his navel, to soft skin.

**Author's Note:**

> please comment if you liked it  
> also my tumblr is [here.](http://mitzvahmelting.tumblr.com)


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